This One Only Goes To Ten
by MatildaSeptember
Summary: Post Series 4, episode 13 adventure. Warning: Don't read if you've not seen Series 4 and don't like spoliers.
1. Chapter 1

**Spoiler Warning: **This is set post Series 4 and is an 'account' of events following the episode 'Murdoch in Wonderland.' Consequently, if you've not seen it, and you don't like spoilers, don't read! If, on the other hand, you are not adverse to a bit of absolute tosh, then read on!

'This One Only Goes To Ten'

Rapturous thunder shook the city. Every few minutes, a fresh sheet of lightening sliced through the leaden evening sky, illuminating all surrounding it. As sheets of rain lashed down, the dusty streets turned to a quagmire. Everyone had found sanctuary from the downpour some time ago and the streets were deserted; all apart from the entrance to one particular building.

A looming, eleven storey high tower dominated the sky line, even in the ink black darkness. A police constable hovered by its dimly lit entrance. Unwilling to step inside out of the rain, he shuffled around, looking this way and that, as if waiting to meet someone. His uniform was sodden but this did not deter him from his duty. Occasionally, he fruitlessly tried to brush away the interminable rain drops from his otherwise immaculate dress, and then his eyes resumed their diligent search of the desolate street once more.

When the sound of approaching horses' hooves could be distinguished above the raging storm, he sighed and a visible look of relief spread across his face. As the carriage drew up, the constable quickly made one final attempt to brush away any evidence of disorder; momentarily he removed his helmet, smoothed down his dripping wet, short hair, replaced it and feigned a position of calm authority.

A suited figure descended from the carriage and made a dash for the entrance. Once under the canopy, he removed his hat, wiped away any traces of rain with calm ease and returned it to his head. He eyed his soaking wet companion, who had joined him under the only cover available, with curiosity but refrained from drawing attention to his colleague's somewhat dishevelled appearance.

"Good evening George. What have we here? It's been a few years since I was at this wonderful Pendrick building," said the new arrival, glancing up at the monumental building with a look of awe. "Not the theft of another Rembrandt is it?"

"Well Detective Murdoch, it appears that one of the maids has found a body sir. A dead body, that is. It's made a complete and utter mess of one of the guest rooms on the tenth floor. I've seen it and, quite frankly, it looks to me as if some kind of lunatic is prowling this city of ours. It's rather an untidy affair I'm afraid. No Vampires this time. Well, if it is, this one definitely needs to go and have his teeth seen to." He shivered a little as his mind pictured the scene he had witnessed. Before he seemed to draw breath, his explanation continued, "I'd say some kind of knife…"

Murdoch interrupted. He calmly raised the palm of his hand and winced a little indicating the narrator to halt his tale. Crabtree breathed deeply, as if forcing himself to swallow the words he might have spoken.

"Where is everyone?" Murdoch enquired. They both peered behind them into an empty but well lit vestibule.

"Well Sir, the thing is…the thing is, we were all at Dr Ogden's wedding reception when a messenger came."

Murdoch inhaled deeply but he did not show any obvious outward signs of unhappiness, none that he perceived Crabtree had noticed anyway. He eyed George, urging him to continue.

"It seemed pretty urgent to me. All the other officers are somewhat…somewhat indisposed; their level of carousing has to be seen to be believed. Even Constable Higgins…The Temperance League will definitely not approve. Anyway, Inspector Brackenreid and his wife left some time ago; before things got out of hand. I haven't been able to locate him. When I arrived there was chaos; the guests were all trying to leave and the Manager was in a desperate state. I have ushered all the guests into the Dining Room. I'm not sure how long we can keep them; they seem very agitated and rather eager to leave. I was relieved to see you step out of that cab. Have you seen Inspector Brackenreid? I haven't been able to contact a coroner yet either. I left a message at the mortuary but they were not hopeful they could find someone, not at such a late hour. It's not as if Dr Ogden will be attending this one…" He voice trailed off, realising he was encroaching on sensitive ground, for the second time.

Murdoch nodded. Momentarily his dark eyes flickered with grief. His mind was spinning.

"I saw the Inspector back at the Station. He agreed I should take this case…" He was about to continue, but realised it would do nothing to resolve the situation, and certainly not help to solve the heinous crime that had been committed on the tenth floor. George would be informed of the events had taken place over the preceding few hours soon enough, as would his superiors. Until then…


	2. Chapter 2

This One Only Goes To Ten'

Murdoch decided to take control of this case as if it was no different from any other.

"George, you go and talk to the Manager, the Maid and anyone else who may have known the victim. I will go up and see what I can make of it."

They turned and entered the vast entrance, both pleased to be out of the hammering rain and in the warmth of the Pendrick building. The reception area was a room of great opulence. Intricate wainscoting, a painted anaglypta ceiling, chandeliers and heavily embossed wall paper announced that this was a building of distinction to anyone who had failed to notice that from the outside. Numerous candelabras stood on walnut tables in all four corners of the room and hardwood panels encased three of the walls. In the centre of the far end wall stood a door made of darker wood than any other. Above it was a small dial shaped much like a sundial. An ornate gold handle was attached to the door, inviting visitors to open it. Murdoch, ignoring his ostentatious surroundings, grinned at the wondrous technology that greeted his eyes.

Momentarily, the lights flickered and they were plunged into darkness. Before either of them could speak, the chandeliers sprang to life again, once again illuminating their surroundings.

Murdoch glanced at Crabtree and said wryly,

"Seems as if our friend Mr Tesla still has a few things he needs to iron out." The Constable nodded and rolled his eyes in agreement. "I think I'll take the elevator George. I don't fancy walking up to the tenth floor." As if under some form of spell, Murdoch approached the far end wall and pushed a button. Immediately the dial began to move, indicating that the elevator was on its journey down from the eleventh floor. "I'll rejoin you when I've had a look at what's what."

George, hearing a fracas break out in the Dining Room, made a swift exit to where the raised voices could be heard.

The elevator arrived at the ground floor. Murdoch pulled on the handle, opened the door and was in the process of sliding back the golden mesh security door when he heard footsteps rush in behind him. Turning round, he found himself unable to speak.

In front of him stood a breathless woman, dressed in expensive evening attire. The elaborate, emerald green evening dress she wore made her seem at home in the present surroundings. Her arms were partially covered with immaculate white gloves. However, her hair was somewhat unkempt; it had come loose following her encounter with the storm and her somewhat swift entrance into the building.

She skidded to an abrupt halt. Pushing stray stands of hair from her face, she coughed lightly as her eyes searched the room, as if desperately trying to avoid eye contact with Murdoch.

A few moments of silence followed where neither party could bring themselves to speak. Gathering herself together, the female eventually broke the awkward silence.

"Inspector, you are the last person I expected to see here," she said, whilst slowly removing the gloves from her hands. It was not necessary for her to do so but it was the only way to occupy, and attempt to calm, her racing mind. Her wispy, uncertain voice revealed that she truly had not expected to see him.

In an effort to conceal his own state of alarm, Murdoch could do nothing other than stand up straighter, give a slight nod to acknowledge her presence, remove his hat and reply,

"Dr Ogden, or should it be Garland now? I could say the same of you. I am here on police business. What on earth has possessed you to come here at this hour, in this dreadful weather?" His tone was staid and did not reveal the intense disbelief he was feeling.

Once she had removed both her gloves, Julia finally found the courage to look at the man who had just spoken to her. She glanced up, and in a more confident, nonchalant voice announced,

"After I saw George leave the reception so suddenly, I spoke to the messenger. It seemed urgent, so I decided to come." Again, she pushed stray stands of hair from her face. This time, confronted by her gloveless hands, Murdoch noted she was wearing a wedding band. She observed what he had seen and hastily covered her left hand with her gloves, a little flustered. She continued, "Macmillan is standing in for me; I know it's unlikely that they will persuade him to come out on an evening like this…It would wreak havoc with his arthritis." She smiled, a vain effort to hide her embarrassment.

"That's not exactly what I meant." Murdoch retorted, adding more austerely, "What about your wedding reception? Your guests? Does Darcy know you are here?"

Julia averted her eyes and was clearly uncomfortable explaining her unannounced departure from her nuptials. Unnecessarily busying herself with re-organising her dress, she replied,

"I won't be gone long. Darcy is preoccupied with my father, trying to get him to invest in the Children's Hospital. And Ruby is, well, she's busy entertaining your fellow officers. The reception looks set to continue for some time yet. I can make it back before they even notice I'm gone!" Her voice was forcibly jolly.

From the Dining Room, George's voice became audible. He was evidently struggling to take control of the thronging masses. When he bellowed for them all to pipe down, for the third time, the uproar subsided. Murdoch and Julia smiled briefly at each other as they envisaged George trying to organise the malcontents.

Murdoch was convinced that Julia would be missed and he was certain that, tonight of all nights, she should not be the coroner on duty. However, he also knew her well enough to realise that whatever his protestations, no matter how much he tried to persuade her to return to the festivities, she would not do as he requested. She was far too single minded for that, far too stubborn too. Recognising familiar traits in himself, he felt unable to dispute her reasoning further.

"Well, if you are determined." He announced decisively. Julia acknowledged his submission to her demands with a short smile. He continued, "I will tell you all I know about the case on the way there; we have to go to the tenth floor."

He entered the elevator and indicated that she should follow him. Before joining him, she swiftly moved to grab a candelabra from a nearby table. Once they were both inside, he closed the outer door and slid the mesh internal security door across so that it was fastened tight.

As they began their steady journey up through the centre of the building, he looked down at the candelabra she clasped in her hands and gave her a questioning look.

"Just in case," she said, "Thanks to this storm, the electricity is going off all over the city."


	3. Chapter 3

'This One Only Goes To Ten'

As Murdoch knew very little about the case, all had been explained by the time he and Julia reached their destination. Once the doors had been opened, it became obvious which way they should head. A trail of large, bare foot prints of blood led from a door half way down the corridor, right to the very elevator they had been travelling in. However, when they turned simultaneously to examine the small space they had just occupied more closely, they noted not a single trace of blood could be seen.

Murdoch slowly and quietly closed the elevator doors behind them. By way of explanation he whispered,

"If anyone is still on this floor, they will find leaving it that bit more difficult."

Cautiously retracing the bloody prints, they arrived at one of the guest rooms. The door was ajar. Murdoch pushed it gently. Without a sound, it glided open but he gestured for Julia to remain outside. The room was already lit by the many lights that adorned the walls. In the eerie silence, Murdoch edged his way in. Although certain that George had already checked thoroughly, he knew it was always wise to be cautious as criminals were often known to return to the scene of their crimes.

He scanned the room swiftly.

Once assured no one else living occupied the room, he indicated it was safe for Julia to come in.

The sight that met their eyes was one of exceptional brutality. Although accustomed to scenes of depravity, the ferocity of the attack that had taken place left them both breathless. Murdoch crossed himself, as was his habit when confronted by such acts of violence. Julia turned, placed the obsolete candelabra and gloves on a nearby sideboard, took a deep breath and returned her sight to face the victim head on.

A lifeless, female form lay semi-clad upon the bed. The corset she wore, one of the few pieces of clothing that remained on her, was drenched in congealing blood. Splashes of vermillion covered the nearby walls. The bedspread, which at one point had been a light amber, had turned murky brown. Her chest was slashed to fine ribbons and deep gashes that began at the tops of both her shoulders, spread down to her wrists. However, her face appeared untouched. Although it had been smeared with blood at some point, it was evident that someone had tried to wipe away all traces. What remained was a delicate, porcelain doll like face, incongruous with the surrounding cruelty.

Disregarding the blood covered carpet, and without concern for the trim of her full length dress, Julia approached the victim and began her assessment. She concluded very quickly that the woman had been dead for only a few hours. George's initial evaluation had been accurate; she had indeed been the victim of a frenzied knife attack. As she continued her inspection, Murdoch took the opportunity to explore the room. They worked in companionable silence, neither feeling the need to speak and explain their every move. Through their many years of working together, they appreciated that space and time to think and examine, without interruption, were essential.

After some time had passed, Julia, who had been engrossed in her study, raised her head to find Murdoch on the other side of the room, reading a note.

"Judging by the quality of her under garments, I'd say she was a wealthy woman." Julia informed him. "I'll have to examine her more thoroughly down at the mortuary, before I can say for sure if she was interfered with. Her state of undress would suggest that she has. It appears she died due to desanguination from the knife wounds; blood tests will show me if there was anything else in her system." She gently shook her head, unable to comprehend the viciousness of the attack. "No question, whoever did this was enraged when he did so. But her face, the fact that it's been cleaned and made to look untouched, suggests a more intimate relationship." She instinctively moved away from the body and went to leave. Pausing before vacating the room, she looked back at the listless body that lay on the on the bed. "I need to find somewhere to wash my hands," she proclaimed in a heavy voice before departing.

Murdoch stepped towards the body, still clutching the note he had found. The expensive jewellery that lay on a side table revealed that it was not the outcome of some inexperienced thief taking desperate measures to cover his tracks. The woman's evening gown, the only item that hung in a nearby armoire, suggested that she was already in a state of undress when the attacker had entered her room. He was ruminating on what atrocious events had taken place when he became aware of Julia's presence at the doorway. He was unaware how long she had been standing there.

With a tinge of disappointment in his voice, he announced,

"Well Doctor, there is nothing more we can do here. We really must get the body removed for examination as soon as possible." He secured the note he had found inside his jacket. "And you should return to your reception," he added resolutely. He turned, just in time to see a flash of regret flicker over Julia's face. Without waiting for a reply or acknowledgement, he moved towards the door, picked up the candelabra and Julia's gloves and left the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

Carefully, avoiding the bloody footprints, he made his way back to the elevator. He was suddenly conscious that Julia had not followed him. He stopped and looked back. She remained motionless, staring at the closed door infront of her. She was deep in her own thoughts.

"Doctor." Murdoch said. His words went unnoticed and unheard. "Doctor!" He repeated more loudly. This second time, his voice managed to rouse her from her inner thoughts. She glanced towards him. "Isn't it time we left?" He suggested softly.


	4. Chapter 4

'This One Goes To Ten'

Murdoch went to open the outer door of the elevator. It did not move. He tugged a little harder, but still it did not open. Looking up, he was surprised to see that the dial indicated it was positioned on the ground floor. Without comment, Murdoch pushed the button to recall it to the tenth. Meanwhile, Julia silently made her way towards him.

The arrival of the elevator seemed to take an interminable time. Neither of them spoke. During their examination of the crime scene they had worked in contented quiet, each completing the task they were there for. Now that was over, it was as if they we uncertain what to say to one another.

Both were relieved when, at last, the elevator arrived. Closing both doors behind them, it felt as if they were totally cocooned from the outside world.

On their journey up, they had discussed the case but neither of them felt like reviewing what they had found while they made their descent towards the ground floor.

As they passed the eighth floor, the lights inside the elevator flickered. For a few seconds, it seemed as if the electricity had once again failed to supply the building with its life blood. Momentarily they ground to a halt. William and Julia stared at each other in disbelief. However, before either party could openly express their concerns, it jolted and began to descend once again. Both laughed, alleviated from the fear that they were to plunge to their deaths at any moment. Julia moved towards the back of the confined space and caught sight of her reflection in a mirror that covered the back wall. Immediately, she started to re-do her hair, attempting to restore her copious curls to the clip that had once held them in place.

"What a complete mess I look," she said through teeth that clenched the clip. Murdoch was about to dispel her concerns when the lift jolted again. This time it stopped with such a jerking movement they stumbled a little. Although the lights did not go out completely, they dimmed to an all time low. Regaining their balance, they both glared up at the dial; it indicated they were mid way between the sixth and fifth floors.

"Come on Mr Tesla; don't fail us now!" Julia muttered, more to herself than her travelling companion. Murdoch stifled a smile. Julia hastily pushed the clip back into her hair, and looked sceptically at Murdoch.

They both held their breaths half expecting the elevator to continue its steady move downwards, as it had done only moments before. However, this time it did not move.

After nearly a minute of stillness, the realisation set in that they were not going anywhere. Murdoch called out. His voice reverberated around the small space they inhabited. William and Julia stood frozen, listening intently for the slightest sign of a response. Nothing. He continued his mission to make himself heard.

Whilst banging on the inner elevator door, Murdoch yelled at the top of his booming voice more than five times. To those trapped inside it was as loud as a cannon firing, for those elsewhere in the building he may as well have been shouting from the moon. As he prepared to call out again, Julia pressed her hand to his arm. It was a clear indication that she wanted him to stop. He appeared somewhat perturbed by her silent demand but she simply sighed heavily, grinned and shook her head.

"Detective, didn't you say that Constable Crabtree was in the dining room with _all _the guests and staff_? _It's not very likely they'll hear you from there, not judging by the considerable ruckus that was going on before we left. And besides, I'd quite like my ear drums to be intact when we leave here."

She suddenly became conscious that her hand was still on his arm and rapidly removed it. The flush that grew over her previously pale complexion did not go unnoticed my Murdoch.

Shifting backwards towards the rear of the elevator, she continued, "I am sure that the electricity will be back on again soon. Pendrick wouldn't let his prize building be thrown into darkness for too long." And as if confident of her claims, she promptly gathered up her skirt and made herself as comfortable as possible on the floor. "It's just a matter of waiting it out. Brackenreid will want to know what you've discovered too; just to make sure Sally Pendrick wasn't found hiding away in any cupboards! I'm sure he'll find someone sober enough to come looking for you before too long."

Reassured by Julia's calm and rational demeanour, he joined her on the elevator floor. The mention of Brackenreid made him more than a little uncomfortable though and, although he did not say anything, Julia knew instinctively that something was wrong.

As he shuffled into a relatively comfortable sitting position, Julia gave a side-ward glance. She was about to enquire what was worrying him, but she suppressed her concerns and curiosity.

William looked at his pocket watch. They had been on the tenth floor longer than he had imagined.

"It's nearly half past nine," he informed her. "Darcy will be worried." She did not reply. She picked up her gloves and placed them neatly on her lap and began to pluck at the seam. Taking her silence as an indication that she had no desire to pursue the subject any more than he really did, they lapsed into silence.

Moments passed and their eyes gradually adjusted to the dim, sepia light on offer. The enclosed environment they occupied took on a surreal feeling. Every now and again, there was the sound of wood creaking. The muted glow created a soporific atmosphere but cast grotesque shadows across the walls.

Both were immersed in their own thoughts; what had taken place in the past, what had occurred that day and the sights they had just witnessed.

Murdoch realised he would be in even worse bother over his most recent misdemeanour once Brackenreid found out, if it was possible to be in any worse trouble. Murdoch had been collecting his belongings when the call from the Pendrick building came in. He had explained about the Garland wedding reception and passed on the location where they would most likely find a constable at short notice. He knew he should have followed Brackenreid's orders, but he had not been able to resist seeing the inside of the Pendrick building one last time.

Things had occurred so quickly of late. He knew how foolhardy he had been to contemplate attending this crime scene, let alone following through on his impulses. Impulsive behaviour was something he was unfamiliar with. He had always considered himself a rational, detached man. However, his actions over the last forty eight hours had proven his character to be quite the contrary. If only he had acted more spontaneously in the past; so many things would have been different.

Glancing up he became aware of Julia's close proximity.

Eager to create a new topic of conversation and offer his mind some diversion from his melancholic thoughts, he looked over.

"Pendrick will be livid when he hears what's gone on here; the grandest building in Toronto. Did you know it is made of solid steel and concrete, all eleven stories of it?" He asked.

She glanced up at him and beamed.

"I know William," she replied amicably. "The last time we were here you told me all about it. It seems to me as if Pendrick has about as much luck in his choice of architecture as he does wives!"

He smiled briefly, appreciating how in control she was of the whole situation. He thought about how Enid Jones would be panicking, almost to the point of hysteria, if confronted by similar events. She would be the exact opposite of Julia, who was sat down on an uncomfortable hard floor, passively passing the time away without complaint.

His mind once again drifted away and became embroiled in thoughts of when they were last there, the trouble caused them by the same elevator and the stolen Rembrandt. He steadily became conscious that Julia was asking him a question, but he only caught her final words.

" …the note?" She enquired.

"Sorry, what was that?" He asked, uncertain which note she was referring to.

"The note, the one you found in the room. What did it say?" She asked again.

Still seemingly in his own world, he replied,

"I can't live without you."


	5. Chapter 5

'This One Only Goes To Ten'

They were thrown into a mutual state of bewilderment. Each observed the other, searching for understanding and clarity.

William's mind raced, recalling the words Julia had written to him…

'_If your feelings are the same, you must let me know before I make my vows. If they are not, then I will marry Darcy and we will never speak of this.' _

Momentarily, he glanced down to the golden wedding band she now wore. It seared his eyes.

Julia, visibly shaken by his words, took a sharp intake of breath; half of her striving to comprehend, the other half leaping in disbelief. Uncertain whether she had interpreted his words correctly, Julia leaned forward and, in a faltering voice, asked,

"Sorry William…what did you say?"

William flushed a deep crimson and averted his eyes from hers. As if clamouring for air, he loosened his tie a little and ran his index finger around the inside of his shirt collar, coughing gently in an unsuccessful effort to conceal his discomfiture. Forcing himself to remain poised he replied,

"The note, that's what it said… 'I can't live without you'." His eyes returned to meet her enquiring gaze.

Julia, realising she had misread William's words, strived to conceal her emotional confusion the only way she knew how.

"Well, the numerous stab wounds rule out suicide, wouldn't you say?" She retorted, somewhat too light heartedly.

William, believing the misunderstanding had escaped unnoticed, was relieved that she had diverted the conversation. He nodded to concur; he was still learning to appreciate her rather dark sense of humour when it came to matters of death.

By unspoken agreement, they remained silent for some time and resumed their positions at opposite ends of the elevator.

Murdoch glanced again at his pocket watch. It read twenty past ten. They had been trapped for the best part of an hour. His mind began to ruminate over the circumstances that had led up to whole sorry situation, and what was to come.

Brackenreid's impending wrath; that would be the one thing he would have to deal with. His boss' final instruction had been for Murdoch to 'bugger off home.' Following Murdoch's account of events that had taken place that afternoon, culminating in his release of Ava Moon, Brackenreid had given no indication what was to happen to him. At first, Brackenreid had raged, stamped and sworn around the office. The shade of puce he had gone was the darkest Murdoch had ever seen. After consuming copious amounts of whiskey, he had simply expressed despair at the 'whole sodding mess.' Brackenreid had accepted Murdoch's resignation, for the time being. As he had stormed off to go home to his wife, Brackenreid informed Murdoch that he didn't want him anywhere near any more crime scenes until the whole situation had been sorted out, for better or for worse.

Opposite him sat Julia. She was beginning to doubt Darcy's ability to understand the situation. She had not told him she was leaving. There were a few other things she had also not told him. She had felt the undying need to escape, just for a short while. The reception had made her feel so claustrophobic. She had informed Ruby where she was going, but her sister had seemed too preoccupied regaling stories of her encounters with the great Houdini and H G Wells to pay any real attention to what she had told her.

Julia had noted William's absence from the church. As had his colleagues, and Darcy. When she had enquired after him, Crabtree had informed her that Murdoch would be there as soon as he had finished up some paperwork regarding the 'Wonderland' Case. He had not had the time to go into detail. However, he had assured her that William had been released, he had received her letter and that the real culprit had been detained.

'_If your feelings are the same, you must let me know before I make my vows.'_

He had said nothing. She had married Darcy. She admonished herself for even imagining William still had feelings for her, and cursed Ruby for her meddlesome ways.

Realising how numb she had become, Julia stretched out her legs, unintentionally revealing some of her petticoat. In an effort to retain some decorum, she hastened to cover it with her dress. Even in the dim light, the dark edges on her gown revealed the traces of blood she had acquired at the crime scene.

William noted the markings and instinctively leaned over, picking it up.

"Julia, your dress!" As he lifted the hem, he inadvertently revealed far more of the very petticoat she had just tried to conceal.

Taken a little aback by his unexpected gesture, Julia grasped her dress from him and returned it to its original position, stating,

"William, it's fine. It's not as if I'm going to be needing this dress again anyway, is it?"

There was bitterness in her voice. Surprised by the hostile tone, he stood, stretched out his limbs and sat down next to her. As he did so, he focused his mind on the case.

"This murder," he began raising his hands enthusiastically. "Cleary, whoever did it, felt compassion. It wasn't a theft. Why did she open her door to someone when she was in such a state of undress? He must have known her."

Julia sat for a few moments in still contemplation. Immediately she began to relax. Whatever their differences in the past, no matter how awkward they were around each other, they had always been able to overcome the void they faced through discussing their work.

"Well, we've established it's not a suicide note." Julia replied. "What if it's just the beginnings of a letter declaring her undying love…?" She hesitated; their faces were only inches apart. Looking into his deep brown eyes she continued, more slowly, more deliberately, "Perhaps the intended recipient doesn't feel the same way…" She stopped.

'_If your feelings are the same, you must let me know…'_

He took her hands in his and gravitated towards her, gradually, gently kissing her on the lips. Their eyes closed and became immersed in one another's touch. She responded willingly, opening her mouth to receive the warmth of his tongue whilst urgently running her fingers around the nape of his neck. The unspent passion that had existed between them over the previous months was finally released. As their kiss deepened, he ran his hands down the sides of her silk dress and eased her warm body into his.

The lights flickered.

Without warning he pulled back and looked at her, seeking acceptance. Interpreting his doubts, she smiled, raised her hands to loosen his tie, and leaned in to resume their passionate embrace. His hands skimmed over the soft skin of her shoulders and continued their journey downwards. Brushing lightly past her breasts, he reached the base of her dress. Unhurriedly, he moved his hands upwards, gently caressing her legs, her thighs…

The lights flickered again, this time the elevator became fully illuminated.

Suddenly, they felt the cabin they had been confined begin descend. They thrust each other apart and struggled to stand, still somewhat flustered by the emotions that had been unleashed. Aware of her disarray, Julia looked in the mirror, deftly adjusted her hair and attempted to flatten out the creases that had become entrenched in her dress. Meanwhile, William performed a similar range of movements, smoothing his hair back into place, tightening his tie and buttoning up his suit jacket.

The dial in the elevator indicated that they were swiftly making their way back down to solid earth.

Once they had finished adjusting themselves, they gaped at each other in exhilarated disbelief; both unsure what their actions had just revealed, unsure where those feelings would take them and unsure what they would do once they were on the ground.

Within seconds of arriving on terra firma, the outer door to the elevator swung open. If was difficult to determine who was the deepest shade of red; William or Julia, Brackenreid or Darcy.

"Detective," said Darcy acerbically, briefly acknowledging Murdoch's presence before he clasped Julia firmly by the arm and led her off. Flustered for words, all she could do was force at smile at her husband as they departed the lobby into the night.

An apologetic looking Crabtree hovered behind Brackenreid, who was clearly apoplectic with rage.

"Murdoch, nice of you to join us," he said with no hint of real friendship. "A word. Now!"


	6. Chapter 6

**This One Only Goes to Ten: Part Six**

"Bloody hell Murdoch, what are you playing at?" Brackenreid paced the lobby of the Pendrick building like a caged leopard. He stopped directly in front of the shame faced man in question and glared. "You've really have lost ya marbles this time." He stormed off, once again, to complete another circuit of the room.

As he strode, he continued to rant. "One minute you're handing me your resignation, the next minute you're investigating a crime scene. Are you trying to get arrested?" He had completed another lap and was once again staring at Murdoch, square on. "' 'ave you any idea what I've done for ya? " Murdoch was about to interject but Brackenreid continued unabated. "Let me tell ya..."

Bits of spittle had gathered on his lower lip. Ungracefully he wiped them away with the sleeve of his shirt.

"Firstly, I've made our station the laughing stock of the country? Why? To save your ruddy neck, that's why." His eyes looked thyroidal and the pulsating veins on his face and neck were raised a good few millimetres.

Murdoch gave his a quizzical look. Exasperated, Brackenreid continued his tirade.

"There's been no sign of Ava Moon. What a surprise. I've notified Inspector Giles. He's not happy, to say the least. I'll have to write a very creative report about that little mishap with the lock on her cell." Murdoch's mind raced. There were a million and one things he wanted to ask but he realised that trying to interrupt his old boss when he was in full surge was as easy as stemming the flow of Niagara Falls with a mop and bucket.

Momentarily, Brackenreid lost his train of thought.

"Where was I? Oh, aye, and secondly, if you 'ave decided to leave the force, what the 'ell were you playin' at coming to a crime scene?" He banged his fist heavily on the reception desk, sending an earthquake tremor along its full length.

Before Murdoch could answer, Crabtree bustled up and coughed. Brackenreid turned and demanded sharply,

"What?"

The Hotel Manager who was by Crabtree's side looked frightened by the Inspector's demeanour. He shrank back at the sounds of Brackenreid's dismissive tone and looked concerned for the well being of his beautiful dark wood reception desk.

"Sir," began Crabtree, attempting to bring a sense of professionalism to the proceedings. "This is Mr Charles Ansalem, the Manager." He gestured rather unnecessarily to the man who was standing next to him. "He informs me that the lady, the dead lady that is, on the tenth floor, " he carefully pulled out his notebook from his breast pocket and referred to his scribblings, " a Mrs Florence Fitzwilliam, received a note earlier today. It was delivered by messenger. She opened it at the reception desk and, according to Mr Ansalem, she seemed very happy with its contents" He paused and looked pleased with himself, as if his recent discovery would crack the whole case wide open. When both Murdoch and Brackenreid did not respond to his revelation, he continued, "I was just thinking; if we find that note, it might tell us some useful information." He awaited their congratulations on making such a discovery.

Murdoch simply nodded and smiled a little to himself. Instead of responding to Crabtree, he turned to address the manager.

"Could we have a list of all the occupants on the eleventh floor?"

Brackenreid, Crabtree and the manager turned to give Murdoch an enquiring look.

"Murdoch, you've lost it again. The murder took place on the tenth floor," said Brackenreid with a heavy sigh.

"I know sir, I know. It's just that I have an idea."


	7. Chapter 7

**This One Only Goes To Ten: Part 7**

The silence in the horse drawn carriage was not one of tranquillity. Neither passenger could bring themselves to talk to the other one. Julia sat, quietly fuming at the indignation of being found in such a compromising position, and at the brusque manner she had been removed from the building. Meanwhile, Darcy was busy wrestling with his pent up anger. How could his wife embarrass him like that?

Although the torrential storm had passed, the biting winds and damp night air added to the unpleasantness of the journey. Julia shivered. Darcy instinctively removed his suit jacket and motioned to put it around her shoulders. Sullenly, she brushed him away. He scrunched it up tightly in his hands; he could not suppress his anger any longer.

"Julia!" he exploded. "How could you?" He turned to face her, but she remained defiant and refused to acknowledge him. "Julia. You left your wedding party. Our wedding party. Have you any idea how it looks?"

She sniggered in disbelief and shook her head at what he had said.

"Just tell me why you went." He demanded. However, his voice became more controlled and impassioned as he realised that he would get nowhere with her through raising his voice. "Julia, please, what's going on?" He placed his hand on hers. When he felt how ice cold her fingers were, he took both her hands in his, as if trying to protect her from the harsh environment enveloping them.

Feeling the warmth of his hands on hers, and hearing distress rather than anger in his voice, she replied.

"It was an emergency. There was no way McMillian would come out on a night like this." Until this point she had stubbornly remained facing head on. As she continued in a more dulcet tone, she turned to him. "Imagine if that woman in the room was your sister, or me…your wife." Darcy's hands tightened over hers, as if repulsed at the thought of such a thing happening to her. "Wouldn't you want to know what had happened?" Looking him carefully in the eyes she asked," or would you be happy to be informed that everyone else was off having a good time; I'd have to sit and decompose for a while longer?"

She bowed her head slightly towards his and gave a pleading look; he winced sympathetically at her rather crude image, picked up his jacket once again and this time, was successful in putting it around Julia's shoulders.

Pacified, she sat back in the cab and pulled the jacket more tightly around her shivering body, glad of the little warmth it offered her against the bitter chill in the air.

"Anyway," she said lightly, "you were so engrossed in conversation with my father that I didn't think you'd miss me!"

Although she had not intentionally admonished him, Darcy was hurt. He felt obliged to explain.

"Julia, that was business. I was discussing our future." He paused. "I wasn't going to say anything just yet, but since you have forced the issue somewhat. It would mean you could leave that dreadful post at the mortuary but remain here in Toronto, just as you wanted." Her eyes widened. "Your father has agreed to make a very generous contribution towards a venture I want to set up, right here in Toronto. I'm lucky I married the daughter of a philanthropic businessman; they are not all so community minded I can tell you." He glanced at her and smiled, convinced she would be as happy with his ambitious plans for their future as he was.

Astounded by this unexpected information, Julia asked,

"What business venture? Why haven't you said anything before now?"

"I am thinking of establishing a sanatorium, right here in this city. It will be a superb place to continue my research. The research I have planned will revolutionise the treatment of lung disease." She continued to stare aghast. This was not the reaction he had anticipated, but then he had not envisaged informing her of his plans under such awkward circumstances. "Did you know Nobel is considering awarding a prize for medicine in the next few years? Why don't you leave the morgue and come and work with me? We could be the first award winning husband and wife team!" The initial enthusiasm in his voice started to wane; he could tell from her body language this had not been the time or the place to have such a discussion.

"So," she announced, frustration and anger penetrating every inch of her half frozen body, "it's acceptable for you to do business with my father on our wedding day, but it's not acceptable for me to go and do mine? You hypocrite!" Darcy held up his hands in protestation and gestured for her to reduce the volume of her voice. She took a deep breath before continuing more quietly, "And what gives you the right to decide where I work? I may have you married, Darcy but that does not mean you can dictate to me."

Despite the cold, she removed his jacket from around her shoulders and cast it onto his knees.

"Julia. You are being ridiculous! I was just thinking of us." She shuffled in agitation and glared at the closed blind covering the window. Unable to keep the acrimony out of his voice he explained, "Ruby told me where you had gone; I knew you'd be with him. I just didn't think it appropriate, not on our wedding day of all days."

"What do you mean, 'him?' Are you talking about William? William and I have nothing but a working relationship."

The carriage drew to a halt. The driver could be heard descending.

"That's not what he told me." Darcy replied. Julia's heart began to palpitate even faster. "He told me it was over, that there was no longer anything between you. Perhaps I was asking the wrong person."

A blast of wintry air swept through the cab as the driver opened the door. He stood to the side as Darcy disembarked and graciously held out a hand to assist his wife, just as if they had just been discussing the decor of their new home.

Julia leaned over, grabbed the cab door and pulled it firmly shut.

"I'll be spending the evening at my father's," she announced though the wooden barrier that had come between them. "Take me to Parkdale please," she snapped, hoping that the cab driver could hear her.

As the carriage trotted away, Darcy stood on the rain washed sidewalk and declared,

"I'll never let you go Julia."


	8. Chapter 8

'This One Only Goes To Ten': Part Eight

Brackenreid and Murdoch were huddled over the open leather bound register. Meanwhile, Crabtree struggled on tip toe close behind, desperately trying to get a glimpse of the immaculately written tome. Without warning, Brackenreid stood upright. He looked mystified. Crabtree, almost losing his balance, wobbled backwards to allow his superior some space.

"E. Dart. Who the ruddy 'ell is that when 'es at 'ome?" snarled Brackenreid at nobody in particular.

The Manager, who was stood behind his beloved reception desk, smiled with a sense of advantage. He lightly skimmed his fingers over the polished wood, as if brushing away invisible specs of dust. When they reached the register, he snapped it shut.

"That, Inspector Brackenreid would be Mister Ezekiel Dart, son of the great inventor, " replied Mr Ansalem with an air of expectancy. Brackenreid's eyes grew wider and he shrugged his shoulders; he had no idea. "Haven't you heard of the Dart elevator?" added the Manager in disbelief.

Murdoch nodded enthusiastically; Brackenreid continued to appear mystified.

"How wonderful! That invention revolutionised industry! He must be a wealthy man! " Murdoch enthused. Then, recalling his line of enquiry, his voice took on a more sombre tone." Is he the only guest on the eleventh floor?"

Reassured to have discovered someone who knew of the illustrious inventor, and giving Brackenreid a rather dismissive look of disgust, the Manager answered sharply,

"Most definitely. He took all the rooms; he wanted privacy. He is here for a short vacation. He went out earlier this evening to sample some of the cultural sights this excellent city of ours has to offer."

Brackenreid nodded at the information he had gleaned and appeared impressed. He immediately realised how influential a well healed man such as Mr Dart could be.

"Doesn't sound like your typical suspect for this type of murder does he? Eh Murdoch?" asked Brackenreid.

Ansalem, clearly agitated by the mere implication, wiped a tiny bead of sweat from his furrowed brow, and answered swiftly,

"Inspector, I agree. You obviously have to look elsewhere. Mr Dart is an honourable gentleman. I will not have such a distinguished guest of ours, or the good name of Pendrick, brought into disrepute."

Just then, an immaculately dressed, middle aged gentleman glided into the lobby. He graciously removed his felt Derby, unbuttoned his tail coat and pulled off his gloves. His intelligent eyes quickly scanned the room and his demeanour promptly adopted a sense of unease.

"Good evening." He announced in clipped North American tones. "Is there a problem I should be made aware of?"

The Manager made the introductions; this was Ezekiel Dart. He was a man of stature; both physically and socially. His appearance exuded respectability.

"Well Inspector, I am sorry to say that I have had a very entertaining evening; Bernard Shaw's 'Candida' has just opened at the Grand. Unfortunately I am unable to be of help. The performance began at half past seven. When it ended, I had a few drinks in the bar and chatted with some business acquaintances. I have just arrived from there."

Brackenreid looked suitably appeased.

"Sorry to have bothered you Mr Dart. Thank you for your time," Brackenreid said, attempting to remove all traces of his usually brusque accent. "I only hope we have not ruined your evening. However," he continued apologetically, "I am afraid you won't be able to go back to your room, we still have our investigations to do."

Dart nodded in acceptance. His deprecating manner continued to assure Brackenreid that Murdoch was on the wrong track.

"Of course, of course… I will wait in the Morning Room. Such a terrible business." His morose look acknowledged the severity of the situation.

After shaking Brackenreid's hand, he walked down the corridor to wait for news.

"Well Murdoch, it seems as if we'll 'ave to forget your daft ideas on this one." Brackenreid announced firmly.

Murdoch looked a little downcast but was evidently still ruminating on the situation. To the right of him, Crabtree was once again busy foraging through his notebook.

"Ah!" Crabtree suddenly exclaimed as if he had been pierced with a thousand pins and needles.

Everybody turned to look at him.

"I wouldn't say that just yet sir." He continued, "Mr and Mrs Davies, who are in the dining room at this very moment, also went to the Grand this evening."

"So?" Brackenreid asked.

"Well, they returned some hours ago; the production was cancelled because the gas lighting was causing problems. After that big fire they had there a couple of years ago, the proprietors didn't want to take any chances."

All eyes moved to focus on the now empty corridor. Dart was nowhere to be seen.


	9. Chapter 9

'This One Only Goes To Ten': Part Nine

Half empty bottles of various coloured liquids lined the shelves as if they were books in a library. Dismembered body parts, suspended in jars full of formaldehyde, sat neatly on a bare white table. Low lighting cast an eerie shadow of an empty gurney across the bare walls. The mortuary was absolutely silent.

Julia Garland sat in her office staring vacantly out into the desolate space that was so familiar to her. She sighed uneasily; this had not been the wedding day she had envisaged all those months ago when she had accepted Darcy's proposal of marriage.

Soon after Julia had ordered the cab to take her to her father's house in Parkdale, she had changed her mind. The last thing she needed was to confront the the wrath of her father, or face interference from her well meaning sister. The only logical thing for her to do was to go was to one place she knew she would find solace. For many, especially her sister, the mortuary was morbid; a wholly unsuitable location for a female to work, let alone the room to spend one's wedding night. However, Julia's mind was racing. She had often sought sanctuary there and, as her mind was in turmoil, she could think of no better place to be.

Her mind zipped from the flashes of passion she had shared with William only hours before, to the cutting words her husband had used; William no longer had feelings for her. Julia thought about the letter she had sent William just prior to her marriage; he had not replied and he had not intervened to prevent her from marrying. Unconsciously twirling her hair with one hand, she pressed the other to her forehead, as if trying to dispel the confusing thoughts it contained.

When had Darcy talked to William? How did he know about their past? Julia was certain she had never revealed the intimate nature of their relationship. When they had been in Buffalo, the timing had never seemed right, and Julia had genuinely believed that it was over between her and William; he had not even tried to contact her in the months after she had moved. By the time William did journey to Buffalo and see her, of course it was a work related visit not a personal one, she was already engaged. Darcy seemed content to move to Toronto, so that Julia could begin her work at the mortuary once again; it had just seemed inappropriate and unnecessary to tell him after that. William had given no indication that he had feelings for her over the last few months; he had never talked of the engagement ring and proposal Ruby had found buried in his desk drawer.

Why hadn't William told her Darcy had talked with him? And if William truly did not have feelings for her, why did he respond so fervently when they had been in the elevator?

Julia shivered and pulled the shawl she kept at the mortuary more tightly around her shoulders.

The silence was broken by the main door being opened. Julia's heart skipped a beat as she heard footsteps approaching. Then they stopped. The figure that had entered the building was obscured by a large white pillar near the entrance.

"Hello," Julia shouted. "Who is it?" she enquired, standing and primping her cheeks to encourage a more rosy hue.

"Julia!" called the voice, as footsteps rushed quickly towards her office. "Here you are, I thought you might be."

"William! I am so pleased," she replied as she moved swiftly towards him, pecked him on the lips and stood back, suppressing her urgent desire to continue where they had left off in the elevator.

"The others will be along shortly with the body," he began.

Julia's stomach sank with disappointment. Of course William had not come to see her; he was only there because of the case.

"Why didn't you tell me Darcy had spoken to you, about us?" She asked coldly. Murdoch clenched his fist, he knew what was next. "And why did you tell him you had no feelings for me?" she continued, her wide eyes brimming with ire.

When Murdoch still did not answer, she persisted, "Is it true?" She said, forcefully brushing away the traces of tears that were welling in her eyes as if attempting to deny their existence.

He moved forward, took her hand and began to explain,

" Julia, I …of course I have feelings for you." He too looked tearful, and there was no doubt that he was finding talking even more difficult than usual. "What could I say to him? He was going to marry you. ..he has married you and," he breathed deeply, " you have married him," he added with a sense of finality.

He glanced away, unable to look her in the eyes; however, his hand held hers even more tightly. His bitter tone revealed he was deeply fraught.

"What happened before, in the Pendrick building, ... it was a mistake." They were the most difficult words he had ever forced himself to say.

She began to interject,

"William, I don't want .." but she was unable to finish what she had started. She yanked her hand out of his and turned away so that he would not see how hurt and humiliated she was. Her tears flowed freely now, even though she was doing everything she could to hide them from him.

"Julia, you know I love you... I always will...But it's too late." He began, even more certain in his words than previously. "While you are married to Darcy, we cannot be together; you know that."

He moved towards her and was about to put his hands on the back of her trembling shoulders, to offer her reassurance and comfort in her time of need. He was only millimetres from her, when he pulled away and placed his hands firmly by his side. He was determined to stand by his word; he was a man of honour. William ached to console her. He desperately wanted to go back and change the past. But he couldn't. He would have done anything to make the time machine Herbert Wells had prattled on about into a reality. Instead, he was forced to look on in silent agony as the woman he loved, more than anything, wept in front of him.

Before more words could be spoken, there was a sudden commotion in the dissecting room. As officers carried in the covered body of Florence Fitzwilliam and placed her on the gurney, Crabtree, who had seen William and Julia through the office window, made his way directly towards them.

Reaching his destination, he stood in the doorway.

"Murdoch, Brackenreid has Dart down at the Station. He wants you to stay here while the autopsy is carried out so that you can let him know if anything is found straight away."

Both William and Julia still had their backs towards the door. There was an uncomfortable silence. Crabtree was instantly aware of their awkwardness. He knew he had interrupted something; he was just not entirely sure what.


	10. Chapter 10

**This One Only Goes To Ten: Part Ten**

At first, Mr Ezekiel Dart had sat on the hard, wooden chair in a relaxed manner. His well cut, hand-made suit and immaculate white shirt had remained intact, despite his somewhat rough capture.

He was sat at a small table. The bare room was lit by one bright light that was strategically positioned overhead. The edges of the room were hidden by shadows but he was aware that there were at least two police officers standing close by. He had attempted to make polite conversation with his roommates, but all forms of banter had been ignored.

After nearly half an hour, it was evident that his composure was beginning to slip; he began to toy with the solid gold cufflink on the right sleeve of his shirt; he was not used to being kept waiting. He shuffled in his seat in an effort to dispel the numb feeling that was slowly creeping up his legs.

Suddenly, the door was thrust open and in strode a gruff looking Brackenreid. Without giving Dart an opportunity to speak, he grasped the chair opposite him and sat down. He seemed somewhat apprehensive.

" Mr Dart, Sir, I am so sorry, but what can I say?" He stared earnestly. Dart, keen to avoid any further confrontation, simply opened his hands as if to imply complete ignorance as to why he was there.

"It's just procedure, you know how it is." Brackenreid informed him. He was using affected Standard English, again. More quietly, has said, almost in a whisper, "tell you what, I've got a lovely bit of whiskey on my desk." He glanced slyly towards the door he had just entered. Learning in closer he continued, "How about a quick glass? It's an excellent malt. " His conspiratorial tone suggested that it was some form of an apology for the recent turn in events, one that he only offered his more distinguished suspects.

Dart smiled, appreciative of the Inspector's efforts.

"Don't you worry." He replied. "If we could just get on and get this sorted out…"

Brackenreid nodded in agreement and sat upright in his chair, indicating a more formal procedure was about to take place.

"Quite right!" He announced. "Just a few questions; we'll clear this up in no time."

Just then, the door opened again and Crabtree entered. He nodded at Dart and sat down on the vacant seat next to Brackenreid. He took out his notebook, rummaged in his pocket for a pencil and carefully lined them up on the table.

"Right, shall we start?" Brackenreid asked, seeming a little annoyed at his colleague's officious actions. And without waiting for a response he continued. " I'm sure you have a rational explanation, but it turns out 'Candida' was cancelled; The Grand has been cautious ever since the fire they had last year; did you hear about it?" Again, without waiting for a reply, he asked, " So, where exactly were you earlier this evening?"

For the first time, Dart looked shaken. Meanwhile, Crabtree dutifully retrieved his notebook from the table, turned to an empty page and picked up the pencil. He was poised to begin.

"Inspector, I will tell you. But it's somewhat …delicate." He indicated the any written evidence of their conversation would result in a less than honest account. Brackenreid swept his hand over Crabtree's writing apparel, sending it flying back onto the table. Crabtree looked suitably injured, but the gesture was enough to reassure Dart that anything he said was 'just between them.'

"Don't you worry Sir. If it has no bearing on the case, the details will not leave this room." Brackenreid turned to Crabtree who quickly acquiesced.

"Well, it was like this…" Dart moved forward in his chair. " I did go to The Grand, as I said earlier. However, you are quite right…the show was cancelled. I confess, I was more than a little disappointed; it was supposed to be one of the highlights of my trip. I do so enjoy Bernard Shaw."

Crabtree interjected," Have you seen The Importance of Being Earnest? It is excellent!" Before he could control himself he exclaimed, 'In a handbag!' in the best Lady Bracknell styled voice he could.

Dart sniggered a little and complimented him on his impression. Meanwhile, Brackenreid issued Crabtree with another firm stare. Understanding the Inspector's disapproval, he hastily motioned an apology.

"Err, so, what d'ya do after instead?" Brackenreid inquired, momentarily losing his poise and his affected accent.

Dart moved in a little closer and looked a little uneasy again.

"Well, a single man in a city like this," he continued even more quietly, " I did what any other full blooded male would do." He eyed his two inquisitors, seeking not only acknowledgement of the meaning of his confession but a masculine understanding of his actions.

Brackenreid nodded and intimated he had a full comprehension. Crabtree stared open eyed.

" I see." He said, "I now know why you didn't want to say anything earlier. Would ruin the relationship with your wife! Eh? Where did you go?"

Dart continued warily.

"Oh no, I'm not married… It's just that I have my social reputation ...I have business connections to consider. As to where we went…that, I'm afraid, is the difficult part." His cheeks flushed deep red. "I met some gentlemen when we were sharing a balcony at the show; they too are in Toronto on business. When the show was cancelled, we all left to who knows where… strangers together in a strange city as it were. The weather was so awful; three of us got in the cab whilst one man, he was called Arthur, spoke with the driver… I have absolutely no idea where we went."

Dart looked dismayed at his own lack of knowledge.

"Ok then. Who were you with, Arthur what?"

"That's the other thing…I didn't ask. I can tell you their first names but that's it." He shrugged dejectedly.

Where did they go, after you'd finished… well, you know…"

"Again, I know… this is beginning to sound terrible!" Dart laughed nervously, as if he was starting to see how ludicrous his situation was becoming. "We all shared a cab back, I got out first at my hotel; I have no idea where they were going to next." He looked at Brackenreid, as if pleading with him to offer some sort of solution to the predicament he was finding himself in.

Brackenreid ruminated for a moment; he too was struggling.

Crabtree, who had also been thinking for some time, asked firmly,

"Why have you come to Toronto? What line of business are you in?"

Dart relaxed a little, relieved at the change of direction in the questioning.

"Oh, I'll try and keep a long story short!" He smiled and sat back in his chair." My father is a very wealthy man…he has made millions from industrial innovations. He's quite cleaned up, as you might say!" He now had an enraptured audience. "However, he's not really a family man, never has been; far too interested in money for that." He added bitterly, "He invents things, but he also destroys people. Many people have lost their jobs because of his labour saving devices; he does not give them, or the poverty he is creating, a second thought."

He paused to think for a second before he continued. "My mother raised my sister and I. And, although you would think we had everything we wanted… my father has never been generous with his wealth. As I have refused to go into the family business, he has done his best to cut me off financially." He stopped and looked mournfully at his listeners.

"I could not go into a business that would only exacerbate poverty, and all the problems it brings…I want to make my mark on society… but not the way my father does. I want to do something good; I would love to prove to my father that I can make something out of myself, even without his help." This time there was no doubting the animosity in his voice. Brackenreid understood it was not about eradicating poverty and its problems at all.

"Anyway, " Dart continued more enthusiastically, "I have forged a partnership with a doctor who lives here in Toronto; we have plans, big plans, to eradicate one of the most killer diseases of our time." At this his eyes lit up and passion seeped into every bone in his body.

Brackenreid was spellbound, so too was Crabtree.

"Surely your father will give you some money, if' it's going to be such a life saving venture."

Dart laughed bitterly again.

"As I said Inspector, my father has no philanthropic desires; he wants to make money, not give it away. "

Following a moment's silence, Crabtree inquired, "who is this doctor you're going to be working with?"

"He has an excellent reputation, perhaps you know him... It's Doctor Darcy Garland."

Both listeners were taken aback. They stared, open mouthed, as if they had just been informed all their worldly possessions had been swept away in a freak tidal wave.

"I can see, from the look on both of your faces, that his reputation precedes him." Dart concluded with a flamboyant grin.


End file.
